WHY SANTA CLAUS'S BEARD IS WHITE.

Auckland Star, Volume XXII, Issue 305, 24 December 1891, Page 4 (Supplement)

WHY SANTA CLAUS'S BEARD IS WHITE.

(By M. A. Bikd.)

A LEGEND,

During the babyhood of Santa Claua— long, long ago—while still many good and worthy folk believed wood-sprites lived in the hole a of trees, witches in caves, and dwarfs deep down under earth, there lived in far Germany, on one of the leaser mountains of the Harz, a miner, with his wife and seven children. Deep down in the bosom of the mountain was the mine. Here the father had worked each day from morn to night to feed, oven scant.ily, his wife and children. At lasb came a season ot great dearth. The miner fell sick. Sadly his wife hung out of sight hia leather work-suit. The cold winter with its cruel grasp stole down from the mountain-tops; still the miner lay sick ; still the dearth of food throughout the little town ; nowhere a mouthful to spare. The birds in the trees lived and were merry. Must the little ! children starve ? Who had done it? 'I tell you, it's the Giibich, king of dwarfs, who spoiled the crops laat year. I know his pranks, curse him !' said the oldest of the miners. ' Who in summer steals all tha raspberries and strawberries ? He never eats aught else, and has lived like a prince in his rocky cavern up there among tha holy firs, ever since the old giant threw these mountains out of his shoe because tha bit of sand hurt him. I tell you, tha Giibich can make us sick with a glance, touch, or breath. Save me from going near his home ! Yet they say the cones off his trees are good to eat, and can be made into wondrous pretty things which sell well in the town below us. Starve or touch them ? Starve, I say !' ' Dear husband, , said the patienb wife, • thou knowest the holy firs ; I go to gather their cones. I will sell them and buy theo food which will make thee well. Children, care for thy father while I am gone. . Quickly throwing a shawl over her head and taking a basket oa her arm, out into the gathering coldness of the coming night stepped the mother. The wind shook the alders afc the cottage door until they nodded and peeped ah the windows. It roughly rattled the dried foliage of the stately oaks, whose sacredness to the gods the elements were thought to respect, and then died away among the pines in a soft, sad music, that brought tears to the mother's eyes. It was like the moan the bairns made for bread. The tears broke into a sob ; halfblinded, with bent head, she reached the edge of the holy forest. Pityingly, out from hie bed of clouds, the setting sun glanced v/arn\ and tender. Hβ shot his parting rays among the firs, and filled their deep shadows with a cheerful glow.,- Suddenly, into the marked pathway of "his light, stepped a littlo man with snowy beard, who gravely doffed hia leathern cap and waited for the sad mother to reach him. 'Good woman, what ail'sb thou? Why so sad ?' broke upon her startled ear. ' Oh, sir; I mean no harm. My children sfcaVve; my husband never again will be well. I cannot see them ask each day for bread and give them none. Igo to gather cones. Do let me pass and fill my basket. , .' I would harm thee not, my friend,' said the little man. ' And knowest thee where the cones can be found ? Follow this path a hundred feet, and there they can be gathered with'—but the mother was on her way. A knowing look, a caress of his white beard, a sniff of the perfumed forest air, and the little man had vanished. k With glad feet the mother hurriedoni Not a sound but the dropping of the conea broke the stillness of the forest. Faster and thicker they seemed to fall at each onward step. A perfect storm of cones. They dropped upon her head ; they fell at her feet; they pelted her shouldere ; they filled her basket. Frightened, the poor woman turned and fled, glancing neither to the right nor left." Heavier and heavier the basket grew. Breathless and exhausted she reached her cottage door. The mother entered and quickly barred the door. 'Husband, husband, think whab has happened ! On the edge of the holy forest I met a little man with snowy beard, who told me where to gather the yestrccnis? ""'I hurried to find them, but the farther I went the faster the conee fell from the firs. They came about my head as thick as snow-flakes in mid-winter, yet the trees shook not. I was afraid and did not stop to pick up one ; but some fell in my basket and here they are.' ' Hist, wife ! Look, look thou ! They are pure silver. It's the Giibich thou hast) met.' Down the basket dropped. Around it grouped the mother and children. True, there lay the cones, silver every one, gleaming in the fire-light as had the beard of the little man in the golden glow of the sun. The morrow's sun had tipped the graceful firs with gold, when again the mother stood at the edge of the forest. In a moment the Giibich was before her. ' Good-morrow, good soul ! Founda'b thou nob beautiful cones yester-eve ?' And a laugh rang through the forest. The mother struggled to speak. 'Keep thy thanks, I wish them not,' continued the Giibich. 'Bo thou only faithful to thy husband's words, and each cold December give to me and my dear firs a loving thought to keep our hearts warm. Now hie thea home.' Not moro quickly speeds the wind than the mother home agaiti ; not more happy are bhe birds than were the hearts in the miner's home that day. By night nowhere a hungry soul on the ' beautiful Hirbichen* stein.' Dear Santa Glaus—ever since, thy beard'a been white as snow ! Dear Ghrisbmas joy—ever since, madly the Harz maidens dance round the graceful firs.